


pressure points of paramount importance

by tenuis



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26988637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenuis/pseuds/tenuis
Summary: Mulder hits the spot.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	pressure points of paramount importance

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a smutty little something that was begging to be written.
> 
> title comes from the brilliant [obnoxiously sexual by gusgus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ANIPyy1Wnb4), one of my favorite songs.

He’s going slow—deliciously, infuriatingly so. She’s lost track of time. It seems blasphemous to thank God at a time like this, but she does it anyway. These lazy weekends with him, when they can just love one another like this; they are such a far cry from the despair, the urgency of their days working at the Bureau. Here in their house, they are so far away from the rest of humanity. Their introverted personalities were tailor-made for each other; it doesn’t matter that they don’t really have any friends, it doesn’t matter that they only see each other day in and day out. Why would any of it matter? All of that bullshit—amiable pleasantries, fake smiles, boring anecdotes—none of it compares to the realness, the truth of this. To how well they know each other. They have never needed anyone else.

His hands clamp on the backs of her knees, securing her wide open to accommodate his deep thrusts. He’s not chasing that rush just yet, but instead basking in the bliss, the pleasure of it; letting it lead him, sway him. With his eyes pointing skywards, he takes deep, measured breaths, wide chest expanding with luxurious plasticity, beads of sweat catching the morning light from outside.

She stares at him. How can she not? On her back like this, she is passive, a receptacle for his pleasure, and knowing she can turn him on like this is a high unlike that of any narcotic she’s ever had.

He is fucking gorgeous.

She watches his arms, clenching and unclenching in neat little intervals. His hips, undulating gracefully like a dancer’s, muscles and bones wired to the same frequency of the symphony thrumming inside her. His face, his beautiful face, eyes closed and lip between his teeth, delighting in every wet push. He hisses and he groans, sinful and wordless and sexy as hell.

They have done this every way under the sun, but this is probably her favorite. It’s almost meditative. Pure mindfulness, her concentration one hundred percent in the present, in Mulder—she can hear his long exhales, their rhythmic shifting between the sheets; she can taste the subtle, but still there tang of himself where he came in her mouth earlier; she can smell the both of them, mingled and fragrant in the warm air of their room; she can _feel_ , oh she can feel, when his arms hug her thighs tight to his torso and her hips tilt up and he thrusts _down_ , his cock so deep; and she can see his angular features, every line smoothed, as happy as any face can be. She makes him happy.

She knows she’s in for it when he lets his head hang down and his eyes lock onto hers. Unwavering. He’s looked at her like this since the first moment they met; intense scrutiny, filing away in his brain every minute shift in her expression. But he didn’t trust her then: he had been looking for clues that would confirm his paranoid musings—she’s a spy, a puppet, here to shut him down.

But now. Now he puts that unspoken communication to good use; fourteen years, it’s been. Fourteen years of friendship, fourteen years of him fulfilling every role conceivable—partner in crime, irritating big brother, guardian angel, love of her life. He knows each one of her buttons, and pushes them deliberately. He teases her, always has done. But she loves their competition. He’s the only one who can keep up with her; and her, him.

She’s so worked up, though; he’s going a little _too_ slow for her liking. She craves his strength, the wildness she’s seen in him untamed, unrestrained. He knows this—of course he knows this—and his lips quirk in a perverse little grin. Oh, she’s in for it. He buries himself as deep as he can go, stabbing cruelly up her womb, and twists his hips in wide circles, not leaving a single strand of muscle untouched. She moans.

“You annoyed with me yet?” he asks, taunting, nudging inside of her. That grin is still there; the cockiness that’s buried under all his melancholy and self-deprecation. The entitled confidence that’s almost intrinsic to being a male with a thick penis hanging between his thighs. Men. She’d scoff if he wasn’t fucking her so good.

“I always knew that’s what really turned you on,” she bites back, just a little annoyed. His eyes sparkle. She swears he hasn’t blinked once.

“Everything about you turns me on.” He pulls out and thrusts back inside, a little faster but still not enough; but oh, so good. “Don’t you feel how hard I am?” Again. _Oh_. “Since day one, Scully. Rock fucking hard for you.”

Five hard strokes and he slams deep inside her again, stilling. She can’t take it. She whines when he rams home. He grunts in response.

“You wanna come, Scully?” Circle. Nudge. Circle, circle, circle…

She nods. Doesn’t trust her throat to speak anymore.

“Tell me, Scully. You want me to make you come?” Bastard. Smiling like the devil he is. She loves him so much.

“Yes, Mulder, yes, please…” she barely breathes out.

He pulls out a bit and she almost whimpers in protest, but then he angles her hips further up and she knows what he’s going to do a split second before he does it. He shoves, _hard_ , and the head of his cock pushes right up against her spot, _that_ spot, right above her entrance…

He drills his hips in tiny, rapid strokes, and it feels almost as if he’s vibrating inside of her. She arches like a bow, wound up so tight and being wound up still. It’s so strange and wonderful, that feeling—she imagines that’s what the prostate must feel like. All those nerve endings, wrapped up and encasing her pubic bone in ripe, swollen flesh. Every thrust tickles, like he’s stroking her clitoris from the inside. So fucking good.

Her eyes are shut tight, but she feels his stare on her like a physical presence in the room, reading her every move. The buildup of it is almost unbearable, infinite minutes of oppressive sensation, and she feels as if she’s floating somewhere in deep space, suspended in time. She keens continuously and he growls back at her, strengthening his movements but still pressing the most intimate of her buttons. Teasing her, giving her exactly what she needs. Every muscle in her body tightens; she clenches all over, anticipating the final blow that’ll knock her out, but it just steers further away from her grasp, its force increasing exponentially with every shove.

And when her breath finally catches, when tears slide down her temples, she’s suddenly aware that this is _it_ , like the drop on a rollercoaster, and all she can do is hold on for the ride.

Her eyes snap open, a huge gasp escapes her lips. Mulder nods, once.

And starts fucking her with everything that he’s got.

“Ah, _fuck_ , Scully,” he gets in between his slamming her into oblivion and her screaming her head off. “Fuck, love how hard you come for me, look at you just taking that cock like you were born for it, this is what you really wanted, isn’t it? Me fucking you so hard like this. Fucking beautiful. Love fucking you,” he grunts out, breathless, and she’s always loved his words. The filthiest porn actor ain’t got nothing on her sweetheart. It’s overwhelming, all the ways he can turn her on, and he employs them all in this very moment, this sweet payoff, this little death.

She feels warmth inside of her and that must mean he’s come, but it’s nothing more than an afterthought. She feels like she’s glowing bright red, delirious with the euphoria of it all. Dizzy, she lies back and waits for the world to stop spinning behind her eyelids.

He kisses a path from her right foot to her mouth, breathing her in. When she feels that it’s safe to open her eyes again, she sees he’s still smiling, but this one is different: sated. Loving. So dazzling it makes her heart skip.

“I never realized how rare this sight used to be,” she whispers, brushing her fingers over his lips, “back in the old days. You never smiled much, Mulder. You look so beautiful when you smile.”

He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t have to. His eyes roam all over her for long moments, retracing every line, memorizing for the millionth time the look on his lover’s face, like he has done so many times before. She does the same.

They lay like this, drinking in the sight of each other, until they fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is balm to my restless soul. talk to me!! <3


End file.
